


The Cold that Lingered in London Air

by angelite_and_serpentine



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale caring for Crowley, But it's not a lot, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sleeping Together, i mean it's only hurt bc crowley is a dumbass, post-apocalypse-that-wasn't, sick crowley, there's a small amount of anst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:16:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelite_and_serpentine/pseuds/angelite_and_serpentine
Summary: After a lunch date with Aziraphale, Crowley gets lost on his way back to his flat. He finds himself in St. James Park far too cold and on the verge of passing out.Aziraphale notices that Crowley's gone missing, and thinks the worst has happened.





	The Cold that Lingered in London Air

The worst part of winter, in Crowley’s opinion, was the end of February. Far removed from the comfort and warmth of Christmas and the New Year, it was winter in its purest, brutalist form. Cold wind whipped down London streets, and any snow that fell, quickly lost its soft magic. 

Right now, as Crowley followed a path through St. James Park, the falling snow could barely hold onto its crystalline form. Instead it landed, wet, onto Crowley’s cheeks, just above the line of his scarf. Crowley didn’t bother to wipe it off. There was no point. More flakes would come to replace any he wiped away. 

Ahead, Crowley saw the bench that he and Aziraphale frequented. His body decided, even more so than his mind did, to sit down. It was cold. And Crowley was tired. Taking a break sounded like an alright idea*. 

[*In the back of his mind, Crowley was aware that a very large part of himself was yelling about how he needed to get inside and get warmed up. It yelled at him to not sit on a bench outside for Go- Sata- whoever’s sake in this weather. This part of Crowley’s mind was drowned out by a rather loud chat of “Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.”] 

Crowley sat down on the bench, grateful to rest his legs. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been walking, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been outside. That was something he should have known. He couldn’t risk being out in the cold for too long, before he started to shut down. He usually managed his cold-bloodedness alright, spending winter days sleeping in the various sunspots throughout his flat and Aziraphale’s bookshop. Usually.

He stared unfocusedly at the ducks. Thoughts flitted behind his eyes, and his brain struggled to hold onto any of them for more than a moment. He found himself wondering, for what might have been the thousandth time, if they had ears. And, if so, if they were as frozen as his were.  
It wasn’t that he meant to end up at the park. And he certainly hadn’t really even meant to sit down on the bench. Nor had he considered that the wooden boards would slowly suck away the remaining heat left in his legs. For a moment, he became mildly aware of a tingling numbness starting to spread across the back of his thighs. 

“Ngh. That’s not good.” He thought. Or perhaps he said it out loud, quietly enough that the words were swallowed by a fog of his breath. Not that it mattered. He was the only one around to hear the thought.

He tried to remember where he had meant to go. It had something to do with the Bentley—or perhaps his flat? 

A breeze hit him face on, pulling warm air from his lungs and stealing his breath. It only lasted a moment before the wind switched directions, but Crowley’s chest was tight on the next breath and the one after that, as if his lungs had frozen solid. Crowley folded into himself even more. The cold made it difficult to think. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe the stinging of his skin distracted him, or it was the urge to burrow somewhere and sleep until the sun came out. 

Thoughts wisped in his head. He remembered waking up this morning, but not naturally. No, the phone had been ringing. Crowley had been asleep for a while. He wasn’t sure how long, but long enough that Aziraphale had gotten worried and called to check on him. They’d decided to get lunch. Aziraphale had heard of an Indian restaurant that opened a few blocks from Crowley’s new apartment*. Crowley had agreed to the lunch date and hung up the phone, shaking off the laziness from his nap. He took a few minutes to water his plants, grab his thickest coat and the tartan red scarf that Aziraphale had gifted him, and head off to the restaurant. The restaurant hadn’t been far from the flat, so he’d walked instead of taking the Bentley. For fucks sake, why hadn’t he taken the Bentley? 

[*He’d recently moved a few months after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. Lingur and Hastur’s break-in had made him more unsettled than he wanted to admit, and he’d tried to just ignore that discomfort for the most part. But, one day, after seeing Crowley nearly jump out of his skin when Aziraphale made a surprise visit, Aziraphale had gently suggested that Crowley may feel safer in a different apartment. He hadn’t moved far, and his new flat looked practically identical to the previous one. But it was different enough that he’d stopped jumping at every creak of the floorboards.]

A duck quacked pulling Crowley out of his thoughts. He balled his hands up in his jacket pockets, silently cursing himself for not having the sense to grab gloves or a hat. His sunglasses didn’t do much for warmth. Quite the opposite, in fact. The metal frames had frozen, and it felt like they were cutting into the skin of his ears.  
Crowley exhaled slowly, watching the mist of his breath disappear. He buried his face into the scarf further, until the bottom of his sunglasses hit the fabric. On his next breath, the lenses fogged up. 

He’d possibly gotten to the restaurant first. Yes, he remembered. He’d picked a table by the window, and he’d gotten to see Aziraphale’s cheeks and nose pink from the cold as he entered the resturant. Aziraphale had slid into the seat across the booth from Crowley, despite the abundance of space Crowley had left to his right. Pouting, the demon’s heart sank just slightly. He’d retaliated by nudging the angel’s legs with his own. It was meant to be annoying at first, but Aziraphale just tried to conceal his smile and the blush running over his cheeks with the menu. Eventually Crowley had stilled his legs, but left them intertwined with the angel’s for the rest of the meal.  
He’d been disappointed when they got up to leave. The sides of his calves suddenly feeling much colder than they had moments before. And... ah, yes—that was it. Crowley had walked Aziraphale half-way home, in the exact opposite direction of his new flat. 

They had been chatting, and Aziraphale had said, “I have quite a lot of reading to do when I get back.” He was positively bubbling, telling Crowley about a new, old book that had been sent to him by a collector of misprinted Italian psalms. Aziraphale’s Italian was rusty, but he was thrilled at the challenge of picking it back up.  
Of course, by saying all of this to Crowley, Aziraphale had meant, “I’m glad I can share the bookshop with you for the rest of the afternoon*.” [*It was only 1:46 at that point.] “It’ll be oh so cozy, and maybe you can help me pick Italian back up. You’ve always been better at romance languages than I. Maybe we could have a few drinks later too.” Aziraphale was already thinking of which type of tea to give Crowley today, wondering if a spiced chai or an oolong might warm him up better than the Earl Grey they tended to have. And, oh— he’d need to grab the space heater from the storage closet for Crowley and figure out where the astronomy quilt had ended up. It was Crowley’s favorite, but he seemed to deposit it somewhere different every time he used it. And really, it was awfully cold out.  
“Crowley must be feeling it even more than I am, the poor dear.” Aziraphale thought to himself, while still babbling away about the different impacts of misprinted psalms over the years. 

Now, it’s important to point out that Crowley and Aziraphale have known each other for thousands of years. Six thousand years, in fact, and that Crowley considered himself rather good at understanding the subtext of what Aziraphale meant when he was talking. But perhaps it was due to particularly cold blast of wind that hit Crowley at the exact moment Aziraphale said he was busy, that lead Crowley to misinterpreted the tone. Or perhaps he still worried about going to fast. Or perhaps Crowley had gotten distracted, thinking about curling up in the astronomy quilt he’d left behind a stack of 15th century cookbooks in the bookshop. But, regardless, Crowley took Aziraphale’s statement as a polite request that he leave. So, after listening to several minutes on the history of psalms, he’d responded to Aziraphale that he “really should be heading home now. Lots of wiles to wile, and the like.” 

And he left, sulking his way back down the streets they’d walked together. Between the weather, and the sulking, and living at a new address, he’d ended up at the very bench he was sitting on now and had, by this point, been sitting on for a couple hours. 

The sun was starting to set, and he was cold and tired. It wasn’t exactly that he was lost. It was just that the synapses in his brain where firing slower than normal, and he wasn’t so sure that his feet and his brain were communicating coherently enough to navigate him down the right streets to his flat. He just wanted to go home. He wanted a warm place to go to nap for the next week.

His eyelids sagged, sleep pulling them closed. Crowley clenched his jaw. He really couldn’t afford to fall asleep here. He had to leave this bench. Find somewhere warm. Maybe his apartment, or Aziraphale’s or—water squished out of his shoes as he stood up. He felt light headed. His legs were aching from the cold bench, and he vaguely heard his cellphone ringing in his pocket. It sounded distant, muffled. He didn’t pick it up. Didn’t even look at it. 

Had he answered it, he would have heard a concerned Aziraphale. But he didn’t pick up. Doing so would have meant taking his hands out of his pockets and exposing them to the winter air. He would’ve had to remove his mouth from behind the thin warmth of the scarf. 

So he let the phone go to voicemail as he took a few steps down the sidewalk. His feet felt heavy, and his chest was tight. His lungs still felt like they were turning to ice. 

“Perhaps Aziraphale will make me a cup of tea,” Crowley thought lazily. Arguably, he could have found out that second by miracling himself into the Bookshop. He could have found out within a few minutes had he picked up the phone and answered the call, or even thought to call Aziraphale himself. But he hadn’t thought of that. He might have not had the energy even if he had. 

One of his snakeskin boots slipped in the slush, knocking him off balance. Crowley caught himself the first time. The second time, he didn’t react fast enough to offset his tumbling weight. His feet went out in front of him, and the rest of his body followed behind. Slush started soaking his scarf as soon as it (and he) hit the sidewalk. His coat, already soggy but somehow starting to get soggier, sagged around him. 

Oddly, a thought observed as it drifted behind Crowley’s eyes, the park seemed rather peaceful in the February twilight. Crowley watched the clouds swirl, grey mixing with the indigo sky. It almost looked like Aziraphale’s eyes after a couple glasses of wine, dancing and deeply warm.  
Crowley’s eyes slid close. “I’ll get up in a second,” he tried to reason with himself. 

His legs coiled toward his stomach so that only the tips of his shoes poked out from under the hem of his coat. 

Air stroked his brittle skin, and sleep overpowered him. 

Nearby, orange lamplight flickered into being. 

 

\----- 

 

Aziraphale knew something was wrong when he called Crowley’s landline and went to voicemail twice* 

[*after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t Crowley had finally sat Aziraphale down to explain how voicemail worked, since the angel had been moping about how Crowley sometimes didn’t respond to his questions on the phone and that, while occasionally one-sided conversations were nice, they weren’t nice this frequently. It took several hours before Aziraphale finally understood, asking Crowley if the voicemail machine was like a mailbox for phone calls. Crowley, torn between amusement and frustration, had said yes. Now all of Aziraphale’s voicemails ended with “Sincerely, Aziraphale” or, on one occasion when he was feeling particularly brave, “your angel, Aziraphale.” It was quite sweet really.]

The first time that he called, it was to ask if Crowley had gotten home alright. When Crowley didn’t answer, Aziraphale wondered if he’d done something wrong. He hadn’t meant to suggest that he wanted to return to the bookshop alone. In fact, he’d been rather disappointed when Crowley left. The poor dear had looked miserable as well, but Aziraphale couldn’t decide if it was due to the cold or something else. 

“Best to give him a little space before calling again.” Aziraphale thought, imagining Crowley moping around his flat. Aziraphale had only meant to wait an hour before calling Crowley a second time, but, well, he was excited about his book and the tea he’d made for himself was so lovely. 

Several hours passed before Aziraphale emerged from his book. He quickly realized that he’d been reading for longer than he meant. The sun had set. The night had gotten chiller. And Crowley still didn’t pick up his phone. Aziraphale hung up and immediately called the phone again, hoping that maybe Crowley had been napping and the second call would wake up. No luck. Worry starting to rise in his chest, Aziraphale called Crowley’s cell phone, which he rarely ever called. Only when something was urgent. That phone went to voicemail as well. 

Aziraphale gently put his own phone down. The click of it settling back into place far too loud in the quiet shop. It had been months since heaven or hell had contacted either of them. There was no reason to think that either head office would reach out this early. But—but… Aziraphale harshly cut off his thoughts before he could recall what happened to a demon that was unfortunate enough to come into contact with holy water. Perhaps he should go check on Crowley.  
Before he could second guess himself, Aziraphale grabbed his coat and ran out to catch a cab. 

Aziraphale turned the brass key in his hand. Crowley had given it to him the day he’d moved into the new flat. “In case you ever want to visit,” he had said.  
They both knew he meant more than that. 

Aziraphale slid the key into the door knob and opened the door, taking care to close it behind him quietly in case Crowley was sleeping. He’d half hoped to see Crowley sitting by the door waiting for him. The demon seemed to have a sixth sense about that sort of thing. But the living room was empty, and the flat was quiet. 

Aziraphale walked to Crowley’s bedroom. He knew that Crowley had been sleeping for several days, but the winter made the demon tired. It wouldn’t have surprised him to see that Crowley had slipped into another nap. Aziraphale pictured his friend sprawled out on the bed under a heap of blankets, his hair ruffed and his glasses askew. He’d always forgot to remove his glasses the dear. 

But the bed was empty, sage green sheets and black comforter neatly made. Even the blankets at the edge of the bed were folded, not even a loose thread out of place. The sight cut Aziraphale’s thoughts short. His eyes widened, panic flaming in them. 

“Crowley?” He tried to keep his voice level, as his eyes swept the room. It was empty. He knew it was empty. He would have felt it if Crowley was here. He knew he would have. He hoped he was wrong. 

“Crowley!” His voice was losing its forced evenness. What started as a calm, if worried house call, devolved into a frantic search. Blankets went up into the air. The undersides of pillows were inspected. 

“It hasn’t even been a year. It hasn’t even been a year.” Aziraphale pleaded in repetition. It may have been a prayer, if anyone had been listening. “We were supposed to have more time.” 

Aziraphale’s ransacking moved from the bedroom to the living room to the kitchen. 

“Oh Crowley dear,” Aziraphale sighed once he came to the last room in the flat he hadn’t checked. The plants perked up upon seeing him. They had always liked Aziraphale, but they’d never show that to Crowley. Aziraphale traced a vein of a lush, green leaf, willing himself not to cry. Crowley was probably fine, he tried to reason to himself. If he wasn’t—well, Aziraphale didn’t particularly want to think of the possibilities. 

Much like Crowley, Aziraphale had not meant to end up in St. James Park. It’s just that he was walking, his feet guiding him without much thought to the park bench that he’d and Crowley used as a meeting place for centuries. Maybe, deep down, he’d hoped to see Crowley lounged here, his arms taking up as much space as he could. Maybe he’d be admiring the clouds, or, perhaps, cursing them for covering the stars. 

As it were, he nearly missed Crowley, curled up on the sidewalk. In the low light, he looked more like a discarded coat than a person-shaped being. His body was shadowed and blended into the slush. But the bright pop of ginger hair, wet and floppy, had caught Aziraphale’s eye.  
If he’d been paying attention to it, Aziraphale might have felt his heart pick up pace. He might have noticed the jolt in his stomach—something between joy and anguish that dulled the panic that’d settled there hours before. 

Aziraphale reached out slowly at first, unsure if Crowley was really there. Then he heard a wheeze, so slight that it might have not even been a noise at all. And then his hands were on Crowley’s shoulders. His palms trembled, and all he wanted to do was shake Crowley. To yell him awake. All that escaped the angel was a gentle breath of relief that condensed and evaporated as soon as it left his mouth. 

Crowley was cold, clearly unwell. But he was alive, and that was all Aziraphale could have prayed for. 

 

___________________________________________

 

Aziraphale pressed the back of his hand to Crowley’s forehead. The skin was cold as ice, and Crowley recoiled as if the touch had burned him. He ducked his face further into his scarf and didn’t open his eyes. A small hope floated in the background fog of Crowley’s brain. 

“Oh Crowley,” said a soft whisper. “what have you done to yourself.” 

Crowley felt hands slip under him, picking him up. One arm supported his legs while the other wrapped around his torso. He crossed his arms and leaned into the warm body, too tired to object to being picked up. A thumb stroked Crowley’s coat, but he didn’t feel it. 

Crowley groaned, sticking his nose into the collar of the person carrying him. He smelt cloves and honeycomb and the must of old paper that only came from books that’d been sitting in the same place for a couple hundred years. And something else, something clean and earthy and—

“Zrfl?” The question was an exhale, barely loud enough for even Crowley to hear. 

“Yes dear,” Aziraphale answered softly, trying to hide the fear around the edges of his voice. Crowley heard it anyway. 

“ ‘m fine, angel. Tikkety-boo, even.” 

Aziraphale smiled. At least Crowley was doing well enough to tease him. The demon released the tension he’d been holding and relaxed into Aziraphale. 

\--- 

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s breath deepen as he fell asleep. He was worried about whether it was good for Crowley to be asleep or not when he was like this. Usually, humans weren’t supposed to sleep in this state, but, of course, Crowley wasn’t human. Crowley, who felt so small in his arms. Crowley, who should have been at home, be it the flat or the bookshop, ages ago. Aziraphale kicked himself for taking so long to find him. 

He walked along the path, navigating them both to the closest road to find a cab. Crowley readjusted in his arms and stuck his nose against Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale inhaled sharply. Though, if it was from the cold or the contact he didn’t stop to consider. 

A cab pulled up almost instantly as Aziraphale stepped to the curb. He opened the door to the car and tried to place Crowley in as gently as he could. 

“He drunk?” the cab driver asked as Aziraphale nudged Crowley to sit upright. Crowley responded by curling more into himself. 

“Yes quite,” Aziraphale answered, sliding into the car beside the demon. He did up both of their seatbelts, and continued. “The poor dear fell into one of the snow banks before I could stop him.” 

The lie slid easily off his tongue. He’d been finding it easier to lie as of late.

The cab driver nodded as if to say, “I’ve been there.” 

Crowley shifted closer to Aziraphale, as the angel directed the cabbie to the bookshop. He grunted as the seatbelt got into the way of getting closer. His cold hands fumbled around to unclip it, but he was surprised when Aziraphale gently guided his hands away. 

“Best not,” Aziraphale said quietly, but he reached up a hand to rub the back of Crowley’s head in an apology of sorts. Crowley leaned into the touch, while Aziraphale’s thumb moved to graze his cheek. 

“ ‘m cold,” Crowley grumbled. 

“I know dear.” Warmth filled Aziraphale’s chest as Crowley drifted off again. 

\--- 

As it turned out, getting Crowley out of the warm vehicle proved to be harder than getting him into the car in the first place. 

“The bookshop is much warmer,” Aziraphale reasoned.

“Yes, but there’s the whole business of the outside bit between the car and the bookshop. And that’s far too cold to be considered okay to exist in,” is what Crowley tried to say. What he actually said was, “mmhfm.. cold. No good.” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment- just a moment- and inhaled impatiently. Really this was starting to get out of hand. “Crowley I have half a mind to drive you back to the park and leave you in the snow myself, given how much of a fright you gave me disappearing like that—”

Crowley was paying attention now. He was still too out of it to process exactly what Aziraphale was going on about, but he seemed mad, mad at Crowley. 

“— you didn’t pick up your phone and then I went over to the flat to make sure you were okay. I knew it was cold and it’s a new place, and I was worried that maybe it was too cold for you or that the heating had broken, but you weren’t there, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice nearly broke on Crowley’s name, and his eyes were beginning to well up. He hadn’t meant to say all that. He’d just meant to threaten Crowley enough to move out of the cab. 

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses. His mouth slightly agape. 

“Angel…” He tried to get up, but the seat belt caught him. “For fuck’s safe,” he mumbled. He messed with the buckle for a moment, before snapping his fingers. The buckle unclasped, and Crowley staggered out of the cab. He ached. All of his limbs felt heavy as if his skin had been replaced with metal plating. He certainly felt cold enough to be made of metal. 

Another snap, and the cabbie was paid and sent off. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry.” He reached out to Aziraphale to comfort him, but ended up using his best friend to prop himself up. “I’m here now. It’s okay.” 

His voice was low and soft. Aziraphale felt his heart melt at the tenderness. He could see how tired Crowley was. Crowley must have been willing himself not to fall down on the spot, as he put more and more weight onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Yes well,” Aziraphale blinked away the water that had been collecting in his eyes. Everything was going to okay. “We can discuss it later. Right now, we need to get you warmed up before you discorporate.” 

“Mm yeah. Probably best to do that,” Crowley was getting more tired each second, the sudden burst of energy from getting out of the cab quickly wearing away. He felt like he could sleep for another centaury. 

“Come on,” Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley to steady him. He guided the two of them into the bookshop and closed the doors behind them with a look, shutting out the gusts of cold air out of his home. A snap of his fingers and the lights buzzed on. A warm glow filled the shop. 

Aziraphale felt a tug on his shoulder as Crowley started to pull the both of them to the sofa in the back. Aziraphale shook his head. “No, I think it’d be better if you laid down.”

“You can lay down on a couch.” 

“Mm.” Aziraphale started walking the both of them to a staircase that lead to the flat above the bookshop. 

“Where are we going, angel? You don’t have a bed. I would have known if you had a bed. Big fan of beds, me.” Crowley stifled a yawn. He moved closer into Aziraphale, trying to meld his side into the warmth of the angel’s coat. 

“Yes, well. I’m full of surprises, I guess.” Aziraphale said. Of course, he hadn’t had a bed five minutes ago, but he was quite focused at the movement, mentally arranging the upstairs office. Imagining Crowley’s bedroom, he tried to get all the details—soft sheets, thick comforter, plenty of blankets. 

With some effort, Aziraphale got Crowley up the stairs and into the newly designed room. 

Admiring his handiwork, Aziraphale thought he’d done a rather good job. Yes, some of the colors wrong. The sheets were cream instead of green, and the comforter was more of a midnight blue than a true black. But there was a large pile of blankets at the foot of the bed, and the pillows were positively plush. It all looked rather warm and inviting. He smiled to himself. 

“This looks oddly similar to my room.” Crowley said amused. 

“Ah yes.” Aziraphale said, patting the demon’s side. “It does seem like you are the expert on sleep between the two of us, so I thought…” Aziraphale’s sentence trailed off, partially hoping for Crowley to tell him he liked it. 

Crowley was already envisioning himself encased under the pile of blankets, only distantly hearing Aziraphale’s voice. He leaned forward toward the bed, ready to collapse. 

“No, not quite yet.” Aziraphale stopped him. 

“Aziraphale,” he whined. 

“You’re soaking wet, Crowley.”

Crowley frowned. Was he? 

Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley’s confusion. “Really, dear. You’ve been dripping onto the carpet since you walked in.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Mm,” Aziraphale motioned for Crowley to lift out his arms so he could pull off the coat. Crowley obliged and grimaced once the coat was removed. It may have been cold and wet, but the coat had kept him insulated. Now his shirt, also wet from the slush or perhaps from his coat, was exposed to the open air. Water evaporated off his skin, drawing away whatever heat was still left in him.

“A warm shower would do wonders for you,” Aziraphale started. But a look at Crowley’s face, which was somewhere between pained and desperate, told Aziraphale that a shower was too much for right now. 

“Oh very well then.” Aziraphale mumbled, more to himself than to Crowley. He ran his hand gently over Crowley’s shoulders, miracling his clothes and the skin beneath them dry and warm. When he was done, Crowley sagged with a tired, but relaxed sigh. His muscles no longer tensed with the cold. 

He felt warm and safe. “Thank you, angel.” 

“Of course.” 

Crowley’s gaze drifted down to the bed, hid legs already giving into temptation of the warm looking blankets. 

Aziraphale smiled fondly at Crowley, eyes closed and almost certainly asleep before his head hit the mattress. He miracled Crowley some pajamas, replacing his shirt with a waffley textured black one and the jeans with fleece pants. They were tartan. Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. It was fashionable. 

Crowley made some noise akin to purring, and Aziraphale felt his heart stir at the sound. 

“Move over a bit so I can tuck you in,” he said. Crowley shifted a bit to the left so Aziraphale could pull the comforter back. Once the sheets were exposed, Crowley rolled into the open space and tucked his feet under the sheets. 

Aziraphale pulled the comforter over him and placed a few of blankets on top of him as well for good measure. He leaned over to carefully remove Crowley’s sunglasses, his fingers grazing the skin nearby. Crowley’s face softened, eyes just barely opening as Aziraphale set the glasses onto the nightstand next to them. 

“Better?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Much.” 

“Good, good. Let me go grab the hot water bottle for you,” Aziraphale said, pulling away. A hand slipped out from under the covers and grabbed his wrist. 

“Angel?” Crowley said. His voice was muffled by the blankets and tinged with a vulnerability he was too tired to disguise. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Aziraphale asked, confused. 

“Frightening you. I didn’t mean to.” Crowley’s words slurred together, but he tried his best to let Aziraphale know how truly he meant them. 

Aziraphale sighed. “You have nothing to apologize for dear boy. I’m just glad I found you before it was too late.” Aziraphale pointedly didn’t think about what too late might have been like. “Let me get you the hot water bottle.” 

Crowley’s grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. 

“Stay.” The sound was quiet, still muffled by the blankets. “Please.” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale softened. He couldn’t say no to Crowley. He miracled himself button-down, fleece pajamas*. [*Yes, they were in fact also tartan.] Crowley gently tugged on the angel’s wrist to hurry him up. 

“Yes, yes. Hold your horses, Crowley.”

Crowley scooted backward to give the angel room, and Aziraphale slipped under the covers. He turned the lights off with a snap. “Is this okay?” 

Crowley answered by gluing himself to the angel’s side, sticking his feet under Aziraphale’s legs to warm up. His feet were still cold, despite Aziraphale’s best efforts to warm him up a moment before. 

Aziraphale jumped a little at the sudden cold before wrapping his arms around Crowley and running his thumbs up and down the demon’s spine. Crowley contently signed and wiggled closer into the warmth radiating off Aziraphale, snuggling his nose into the angel’s chest. Soon enough, he feel asleep. 

\--- 

Crowley woke up to a slant of light coming through the bedroom window. He blinked slowly, registering that he wasn’t in his bedroom. It looked a bit like his bedroom, but the walls were more cluttered and the sheets were much softer. The bed was warmer, and everything smelt like Aziraphale. 

He felt hands reposition themselves on his back, and all at once he remembered the previous night. Aziraphale taking care of him, being scared for him.  
He lifted his chin just enough to see Aziraphale’s face. He was relaxed, his eyes just starting to flicker awake at Crowley’s movement. 

Crowley stretched his back just slightly, not wanting to move too far from Aziraphale. During the night, he’d fully intertwined himself around the angel and was sprawled across his chest. It all was rather nice, and part of Crowley hoped it’d never end.

Gentle fingers started to move up and down his spine, until one hand pressed itself into Crowley’s lower back and the other started playing with the short hair at the base of his skull. Crowley closed his eyes and rested his face on Aziraphale’s chest once again.

“Morning,” Aziraphale greeted. His voice was lower than normal, as if it hadn’t quite shaken the sleep off yet. Crowley glanced up to see Aziraphale smiling at him. The worries that usually tied the angel down were gone for a moment, and the smile he gave to Crowley was peaceful and unencumbered. 

“Good morning, angel.”

“How are you feeling?” 

Crowley stretched his limbs again further sprawling himself over Aziraphale. He heard the angel’s breath hitch. “I’m alright. No lasting damage. Everything just aches a bit.” 

It wasn’t a problem. Crowley had been through worse. 

Aziraphale hummed. He repositioned his hands to start massaging Crowley’s shoulder blades, healing away the aches. 

Crowley sighed into the touch. “Angel?” 

“Yes dear?” 

“Were you really that worried about me yesterday? Or were you just saying that to get me out of the cab?” 

Aziraphale was silent for a moment, before deciding that anything other than the truth would set back their relationship by another few months, if not years, and Aziraphale was starting to tired of the pace he’d been setting. “Yes.” 

“Oh.” 

Aziraphale worked his hands into a knot beneath Crowley’s right shoulder. 

“You thought I was taken back to Hell?” Crowley asked, but it was more statement than question. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale put all of his attention into the knot. Pressing down harder than he normally would have. Crowley whined but didn’t move as the knot started to release.

“I didn’t get a visit from Hell.” Crowley said as Aziraphale moved to a different spot on his back, searching for another knot to undo. “I just got lost on the way back. It was the cold. It was clouding my thoughts. I couldn’t quite remember the streets I was walking on or even the street that my flat is on. It’s so stupid. I should knew London like the back of my hand. I’ve only been here for a few hundred years.” 

Aziraphale felt a new knot, below the left shoulder, underneath where Crowley’s wings began. He started working on it. “The cold will do that to you. You have to be more careful Crowley. We don’t know what happens when we get discorporate now. Hell isn’t just going to issue you a new body, you know. And too much longer in that snow bank and…” Aziraphale trailed off. 

Crowley shifted up so that his face was aligned with Aziraphale’s. “And?” 

“And I might never have seen you again, and I can’t bear the thought of that—an eternity without my best friend.” 

Crowley leaned his head so that their foreheads touched and their lips just barely grazed each other as Crowley spoke. “I’d never let that happen, Angel.” 

Aziraphale gulped. “You almost did.” 

“I know. I’m so sorry I scared you.” 

“You did scare me,” Aziraphale pouted, his hands going still. 

Crowley nodded. He traced a button on Aziraphale’s pajama top. The smooth plastic was grounding amongst all the soft fabric. Crowley looked off into the middle distance of the bedroom, a bit to the left of Aziraphale.

“Angel?” He asked. He focused on the button, and the thread running through it. It was easier than focusing on the weight of his thoughts. The fears of stepping too far or going too fast.

“Yes?” Aziraphale sounded tired, the weight of his worries settling back into him. 

Crowley brought his eyes to Aziraphale’s. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Aziraphale smiled. It was a the kind of smile that started in his eyes and lit up the room. Crowley’s cheeks flushed at the sight. 

He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s cheek and felt the angel smile more at the touch. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale moved his hands from Crowley’s shoulders and into his hair. His fingers gently scratching and massaging the demon’s scalp. 

“Yes?” Crowley’s heartbeat quickened. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Crowley nodded, not trusting his voice to stay even remotely steady. 

Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed his lips against Crowley’s, and Crowley felt his heart flutter and break and grow stronger in his love for this angel all at once. He leaned into the kiss, and pressed himself even more into Aziraphale. 

The kiss didn’t last long by most standards, but to the two in the bookshop’s bed, it felt like a lifetime of its own. 

“Took you long enough, angel.” Crowley joked as he rearranged his head in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck.

“It takes one to know one dear.” 

“Ah, yea--… Point taken.” 

They laid there quietly for a bit, neither one wanting to move from the warmth that enveloped them. Crowley shut his eyes, not quite slipping back to sleep, and Aziraphale found his attention focusing on a exposed strip of Crowley’s skin that was just below the hem of his shirt. They stayed there, soaking each other in.  
“Did you want to get up?” Aziraphale asked eventually, his mind starting to wander to the books he planned to read and what he’d like for breakfast. He could hear people moving about outside, the day transitioning into full swing. 

“Not just yet, Angel. Just a few more hours.” 

Aziraphale briefly considered summoning a book to read while Crowley slept but decided he could wait a few more hours. Crowley spread himself further over Aziraphale, wrapping his arms sleepily around the angel’s belly as if to reiterate that he needed to stay.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead and readjusted the blankets on top of them. “Alright. A few more hours, then.” 

Within minutes, they both drifted off to sleep once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! It's been 4 or 5 years since I last wrote a fanfic, but Good Omens got me itching to write. This work is unbeta-ed, since my old betas are all living different lives now. So I did my best to edit it on my own, but, in the off chance I decide to write more fics, let me know over on tumblr if you're someone who's interested in beta-reading. Otherwise, I really do hope that you enjoyed reading this fic as much as much I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and come geek out with me on tumblr @angelite-and-serpentine. :)


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